Green-Eyed Dovah
by MystiiriousAbnormality
Summary: Harry, a severely abused child, is whisked away to a place where he is needed - A place where he is wanted.


**This is a story I've been wanting to write for a while now. For those of you waiting on my other stories, I'm sorry...**

 **All Encompassing Story Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter!**

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 **Green-Eyed Dovah**

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 **Liberation**

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His consciousness was beginning to slip away. He began to wonder just how long he had been locked up this time around. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd been confined in the tiny space, considering this little cupboard under the stairs was his _room_. But, he had an odd feeling that it would be the last - for better or for worse, he wasn't quite sure…

Every night for about four years now, he would be locked up like some beast; only ever allowed out in order to cook and do chores for his caretakers.

Caretakers?

What a joke. The Dursley's had been mentally and physically abusing him ever since he could form complete sentences.

It started off with the whole cupboard thing. He had always lived in the cupboard, as far as he could remember. But, his relatives hadn't started locking him in it until he was about four years old. He would be locked away if anything strange were to happen around the house, or if he did something to offend one of the other members of the household. Which, mind you, wasn't all that difficult a thing to accomplish.

Hell, sometimes he would be locked up just because his aunt or uncle happened to wake up on the wrong side of the bed that morning.

Then, just before he had turned five, they began to give him less and less food. It kept getting worse until his daily amount of sustenance became _stable_. That is, a single piece of toast, without any butter or jam, and a small glass of milk. The only other food he was allowed throughout the day was the leftovers from dinner, which he was always forced to cook for the whole family all by himself. But, the leftovers never tended to be all that much, considering his uncle Vernon and cousin would devour almost everything he had cooked.

Sometimes, they were just being their normal gluttonous selves. Other times, he knew they were trying to eat as much as they could, for the simple reason that he would have less to fill his stomach with before going to sleep for the night.

At least he was allowed to drink as much water as he wanted, right?

As bad as the cupboard and lack of food were – they weren't the worst part of living with his _loving_ aunt and uncle… Not by a long shot.

No, that honor belonged to the beatings.

Those were the worst.

Sometimes it would only be a few strong smacks upside the head. Sometimes it would be a few fractured or broken ribs. On some of the more rare occasions, though, he'd wake up in his cupboard feeling completely broken after one of the rather brutal _lessons_ administered by his dearest uncle Vernon.

He supposed he was lucky, though.

At an early age, he came to the realization that he healed much faster than other people. For example, when he was five years old, he was being chased by his cousin Dudley and some of the other neighborhood boys. He and his cousin both tripped when they came upon a rocky area, and both ended up going back to the Dursley's house worse for wear.

His cousin had a few nasty scrapes, but nothing too serious.

He, on the other hand, had received a major gash to his left leg. Of course, the Dursley's hadn't bothered to bring him to the hospital. Instead, they had frantically looked after their little Dudders.

The only thing the two adults offered him was a command: Take care of it yourself!

Being only five at the time, granted a rather intelligent five-year-old, he had cleaned the wound as best he could and went to bed. He hadn't even been allowed to eat that night because his aunt was furious at him for getting blood on her spotless hallway floor.

Luckily, his wound had stopped bleeding while he was cleaning it. The surprising thing came the next morning when he woke up to find that his injury was now only a dark red scar marring his small leg. Two days after that, it was only a faint mark, which it still is to this very day.

Today…

What had happened today? Why was an eight-year-old Harry Potter laying on his dirty old mattress in the cupboard as he bled out? Why was he feeling the darkness of unconsciousness beginning to take him?

Searching through his rattled mind, he recalled what had caused him to be in such a state. As he slipped in and out of consciousness, he replayed in his mind the worst beating he had ever received. That's why he was currently in the process of passing out from blood loss.

It had all started in the early afternoon. Harry had just finished his chores and decided to go back to his cupboard and read the book he had 'borrowed' from his aunt's bookcase. On his way, he stopped by the kitchen to grab a glass of water. As he entered, all of a sudden, every piece of glass and porcelain in the kitchen and dining room had burst into thousands of tiny pieces.

Looking around the kitchen in utter shock, he didn't even have time to process anything before he heard the thunderous sound of footsteps he knew belonged to his whale of an uncle.

He paled as he began to wonder just what punishment was in store for him this time.

"Boy! What have you done!" Vernon said at the top of his lungs, turning an ugly shade of purple as he entered the kitchen to see all the shattered glass on the floor, table, and counter.

"It wasn't me, uncle! I just walked in and-" Harry said, trying his best to placate his furious uncle. Vernon, however, wasn't having any of it.

"No excuses, boy! This is the last straw. I'm done putting up with your freakishness in my house!" Vernon said as he stalked further into the kitchen, a murderous look in his eyes.

Harry waved his hands in front of him, a desperate attempt to calm his fuming relative. "Uncle, I swear, I-"

"Shut your freak mouth, boy!" the large man said.

Harry's eyes widened in fear as his uncle's meaty fist came towards him. When it made contact with the side of his face, Harry found himself on the floor, his vision out of focus. After about ten minutes of constant beating and goading, Vernon ended up saying something that struck a deep chord with Harry.

"No wonder your bloody freak parents abandoned you!"

Harry froze, unable to move a single muscle. What had his uncle just said?

"What?"

"That's right, freak! Your parents are still alive. Your father dropped you off here because they didn't want you around anymore. He said you were useless compared to your brother!"

Alive?

Brother?

"No! You told me my parents died in a car accident!" Harry said at the top of his lungs as he struggled to get up from the floor, shaking his head back and forth in vehement denial.

"I lied! The only reason you're even here is because your father is paying me a lot of money! But, having a freak like you around just isn't worth the extra income anymore," Vernon said with a snarl.

As the argument went on, Harry just couldn't take it anymore. He did something he regretted in an instant.

He raised his small fist and sent it straight for his uncle's large chin as fast as he could. Unfortunately for young Harry, he was far too small and weak to do any real damage to the three hundred-pound tub of lard standing in front of him.

Vernon was now shaking in his fury as he reached over Harry's head to the counter, grabbing a long, sharp kitchen knife.

"You'll pay for that, boy," he said in a low tone.

After the worst beating Harry had ever experienced, his uncle had stabbed him once in the stomach and threw him in the cupboard, locking the door without saying another word.

That's what happened earlier today.

As Harry lay on his dirty mattress bleeding out, he felt colder than he ever had before. His vision was beginning to fade in and out, and he was finding it more and more difficult to breathe as the seconds and minutes ticked by. He clutched the painful area of his stomach where blood was oozing out from. But, the only thing that was _really_ on his mind was what his uncle had let slip.

Were his parents really still alive?

Did he really have a brother?

If so, why would the abandon him? Why would they leave their son to be _raised_ by these despicable excuses for human beings?

He wasn't sure just how long he had been bleeding out, but he figured it had been at least fifteen minutes when he began to hear the muffled sound of his aunt and uncle arguing. His aunt seemed to be in a frenzy, probably worried that they might get into trouble. His uncle, on the other hand, didn't seem nearly as panicked. Harry thought he heard the massive man mention something about the back yard.

Were they seriously going to let him die and bury his body out back!?

Then, just as Harry was about to break down due to his lot in life, everything went silent. There wasn't a single noise to be heard except for his own shallow, labored breathing.

After a few moments of this utter silence, Harry heard the old, rusty doorknob to the cupboard turn, and the squeaky door begin to open.

Fear.

That's the only thing he felt in that moment as he thought this would be his end. Eight years; that's all Harry Potter was allowed to live, he mused.

"Well, it would appear I have arrived just in time," a deep, calming voice said as the door was fully opened.

To Harry's shock, it wasn't one of his relatives coming to finish him off. In the doorway to his little cupboard stood an ethereal, almost ghostly looking man wearing odd robes. What was even more surprising, though, was the sight of his unmoving relatives, as if they were turned into a pair of stone statues.

"Who are you?" Harry said in a weak, shaky tone as he struggled to stay conscious.

"My name is Quaranir," the strange man said as he ducked his head and took a step into the cupboard.

Using every last ounce of strength he could muster, Harry sat up and scurried back to the furthest corner of the tiny room, trying in desperation to get as far away from the stranger as he possibly could.

"Fear not, child. I mean you no harm," Quaranir said as he continued further into the confines of the small space. Harry shut his eyes as tight as he could when the man brought his hand closer, as if to grab him. However, his eyes shot open when he felt the man's hand on his head and a feeling of comfort wash over him. As the pain began to melt away, Harry noticed an odd white glow coming from the man's hand.

"What are you doing?" Harry said in a stronger, but still rather fearful tone. As the man removed his hand, Harry was amazed.

He felt fine; as if he hadn't been stabbed or beaten at all.

No. Fine didn't even begin to explain how he felt in that moment. He felt incredible – better than he could ever remember feeling in his entire short life!

"What did you do to me?" Harry said in awe.

"I have healed your wounds," Quaranir said in a gentle tone.

"How?" Harry said, still very much confused and slightly terrified at what had just happened.

Quaranir chuckled and offered Harry his hand. "With magic, of course."

Despite the annoyance Harry felt toward the man for using _magic_ as an excuse, he only hesitated for a moment before taking the man's outstretched hand. He may be a stranger, but whatever this man had done made Harry feel a million times better. So, he couldn't be too dangerous, right?

As he was helped to his feet and led out of the cupboard, Harry once again noticed his motionless aunt and uncle.

"What did you do to them?" he said in a wary tone.

"I did nothing to them. You and I are currently beyond the flow of time. As a result, everything else seems to be frozen in place. Or, to once again put it in simple terms, magic," Quaranir said with a small smirk.

"Fine. Don't tell me," Harry said as he crossed his arms and pouted like the small child he was.

"You don't believe me? Well then, I'll just have to prove it to you," the man said as he took hold of Harry's arm.

Before he could even attempt to pull away or say something in protest, Harry's vision went dark, and he felt nothing. Not the clothes on his body, nor the floor beneath his feet. It was what he imagined being in zero gravity must feel like for an astronaut – minus the bulky space suit, of course.

Only moments later, though, his vision came back to reveal a small office. There was a tiny chair behind a desk, and two normal sized chairs positioned in front of it.

"What just happened!?" Harry said in a near panic, trying to calm his breathing after the shock of being somewhere completely different in only moment.

"I've teleported us to a bank in your world," Quaranir said in an impassive tone.

Teleported?

Bank?

What the hell is going on!?

"What do you mean _my_ world?" Harry said as his anxiety and irritation began to increase.

Quaranir seemed to be pondering something while he looked at Harry. After a few moments, he motioned for Harry to sit on one of the normal sized chairs, which he did after a brief hesitation.

"We don't have much time before an associate of the bank arrives. I'll try to answer everything I'm allowed to. But, there are many things I cannot tell you, understand?" Quaranir said in a serious tone.

This put Harry a bit more on edge than he had already been, which was saying something considering all that had happened within the last half hour. But, he nodded anyway, wanting to figure out what the hell was going on.

"Good," Quaranir said as he sat on the edge of the desk.

"I come from an entirely different world from your own. It is called Nirn," Quaranir said in answer to Harry's most recent question.

Harry didn't believe the ethereal man, but decided against outright saying it. "If that's true, then how did you get here?"

"Like I've said multiple times now, magic. And, before you say anything, answer me this: How did we get from your relative's home to this room inside a bank?"

Harry wanted to argue. There was no such thing as magic, after all. Ever since he could read, he knew that magic was only in the realm of fairy tales. But, he really had no good answer as to how something like that was possible.

"I don't know," he said in defeat.

"Magic. It was magic that brought me to this world. It was magic that healed your fatal wounds. It was magic that 'froze' your relatives. And, it was magic that brought us to this room. Magic is a wondrous thing – it can perform miracles, but it isn't something to be trifled with," Quaranir said, still in a serious tone.

"What else would you like to ask?"

Harry still didn't believe him, but decided to drop it for now. There was no point in starting an argument when he was in such a confused state of mind.

"If you really are from another world, then why are you here? Why are you talking to me, and why did you help me?"

"I came to your world in search of _you_. I healed you, because Nirn needs you."

"Your world needs me?" Harry said in a skeptical tone. As time went by, this guy just kept sounding more and more bonkers.

"Yes. Nirn is in terrible danger. There are things that will come to pass soon that will spell the end of my world as I know it. I am from a group known as the Psijic Order, and I was sent here with a single purpose: to find you."

Harry shook his head. "That doesn't answer my question. Why me?" he said, the irritation in his voice evident.

"Because you are the only one who can stop what is destined to happen on Nirn."

"Why!?" Harry said, losing control of his emotions for the first time in a very long time – other than when he lashed out at his uncle earlier in the day.

"That, child, I cannot answer," Quaranir said with a subtle shake of his head.

Harry just stared at the strange man open mouthed for a moment. This guy was so frustrating!

"Why not? And, if you're so good with _magic_ that you can heal me, teleport us from my aunt's house to here, and travel from a different world, why can't you and your _order_ stop whatever's supposed to happen on Nirn!?"

"Remember, I told you that I would answer what I could. Nothing more," Quaranir said with a stern look which got Harry to sink back in his chair a bit.

"As for your other question, the Psijic Order does not interfere with the goings on of the rest of Nirn. We don't end wars. We don't stop disasters from occurring. We don't put an end to pandemonium or chaos. But, in this particular instance, we have decided to at least find the one who _can_ help Nirn. Otherwise, everything would be destroyed."

Harry just shook his head. If they could stop bad things from happening, why wouldn't they? Why go through the trouble of traveling to a different world just to find him, when they could end it themselves?

Sighing, Harry leaned back in the chair and stared at Quaranir for a moment before saying, "Okay. Even if I did believe you, what would I be able to do? I'm only eight, if you haven't noticed."

This got Quaranir to chuckle. "Yes. Indeed you are. However, what is to come to pass on Nirn will not be happening for some time. At least ten years, give or take two."

"How do you know that?"

"Again, child. That, I cannot tell you."

Harry sighed in exasperation, but didn't say anything more on that particular subject.

"Fine. Why are we in this bank, then?"

Quaranir was silent for a moment, as if deciding on how much to tell him.

"I have been here for about a week. I located you on my first day here and-"

"So, you saw how my relatives treated me a week ago and decided not to do anything about it!?"

"Harry. I was very serious when I said we don't interfere with other's lives. That included yours until I decided it was time."

"Whatever," Harry mumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his gaze to the far wall of the small office.

Not perturbed by Harry's childish antics, Quaranir continued, "I located you the first day I was here, and decided to learn more about your world. And you, in particular. I discovered there are some things you should know about yourself and your world before we leave to my world, and some things I believe you should take with you," Quaranir said just before his head whipped to the door.

"You will still be able to see me, but no one else will. Don't tell them about me, or they'll think you've gone crazy," the ethereal man said in a quick whisper before stepping back to one of the corners of the room.

Harry was about to ask what the hell the man was talking about when he heard the door to the office creak open. The chair he was sitting in was facing away from the door, so he couldn't see whoever entered, and they couldn't see him. He stared at Quaranir in fear when he heard footsteps, but the man just smirked.

Real funny, huh?

Git... Harry thought as he sent a quick glare toward his ethereal companion.

Just as he noticed there were no more footsteps, Harry's eyes widened as he felt something cold and sharp pressed up against his neck.

"Who are you? How did you get in my office?" said a deep, almost feral voice.

Turning to the source of the voice, Harry's eyes opened even wider, if that were possible. Standing next to him was a small, pointy-eared creature who was holding a sword up to Harry's neck.

 _It is called a goblin, Harry. They are the ones who run this bank, and almost all of the banks for the magical people of your world._ Quaranir said in Harry's mind. At least, that's what Harry thought had happened.

Magic? In my world?

Regardless of the ever-growing confusion Harry had, he decided against saying anything out loud on the matter. Quaranir seemed to think it was a good idea, if his slight nod of approval was anything to go by.

Remembering that there was a GOBLIN with a sword at his small neck, Harry said, "My name is Harry James Potter."

He tried to say it in as confident and strong a voice he could manage. But, he couldn't quite help the shakiness heard in his voice. He was on the verge of pissing his pants, after all.

At Harry's declaration, the goblin's eyes widened for a moment before reverting back to a menacing glare.

"Are you lying to me, kid?" the goblin said in a cold, deadly tone.

"No, sir! I swear!" Harry said, raising his hands in surrender after having noticed the blade was being pushed even harder against his skin, beginning to draw a small amount of blood.

The goblin grunted, but removed the sword from Harry's neck and sheathed it. The creature then walked around the desk and sat in the small chair behind it.

Harry's hand went up to his neck in an instant, still trying to process what had just happened.

After a few moments of silence, the goblin said in a no-nonsense tone, "How did you get in here?"

"I can't tell you. I really don't know, anyway," Harry said truthfully, beginning to calm down a bit now that he didn't have a sword at his neck. Just a bit, though.

"All I can say is that there are things I should know about myself, and things I should take with me."

"Oh? And just where will you be going, Mr. Potter?" the goblin said, raising an eyebrow in curiosity and skepticism. Or at least, that's what Harry thought the wrinkly creature's expression was.

"Again, I can't tell you. I'm sorry," Harry said as he lowered his head and squeezed his knees due to his nervousness.

This is ridiculous!

I was just saved from a stab wound, and now I'm probably going to be skewered by this goblin!

The goblin scratched his chin in thought for a moment before taking out a blank piece of parchment from one of the drawers of his desk.

"First, let me verify you are who you say you are," he said, sliding the parchment toward Harry. "Just put your palm on this for a moment."

Harry quirked a brow in confusion, but complied anyway. He stood up and placed his hand on the parchment, as instructed. To his utter surprise, the thick paper started to glow a bright red.

"Interesting. Very interesting," the goblin said as he once again scratched his chin. "You do indeed have Potter blood in you."

Just as Harry was about to ask a question, the goblin spoke up again. "My name is Nine-Finger," he said as he raised both of his hands to show a missing digit, thus answering the unasked question about his name.

"I have been the Potter account manager for decades, before your father was even born."

At this, Harry perked up. "My father?"

Nine-Finger frowned, and with an almost sympathetic look he simply said, "Yes."

"Is…Is he alive?" Harry said in a small, vulnerable voice. Both dreading and hoping at the same time.

"What? Of course he's alive. I saw him just yesterday, along with your mother and brother," Nine-Finger said, looking at Harry as if the boy had grown two heads.

Harry looked to the ground and clenched his small fists. The hurt he felt when his uncle first mentioned his parents returned a hundred-fold, now that he knew it was the truth.

After about a minute of silence, he mumbled, "I was told that both of my parents died in a car accident when I was only two. I didn't even know I had a brother…"

"You can't be serious," Nine-Finger said in an unbelieving tone. At Harry's sad nod, the goblin roared, "Tell me everything!"

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 **That's a wrap for chapter one. I hope you find it at least a bit entertaining.**

 **As always, if you spot any spelling or grammar errors, send me a PM so I can fix them.**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **-Mystiirious**


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